Love lives on though Amelia is dead.

(photo by Oer-Wout)

I knew he would come for me,

that he wouldn't let go.

A love like that is not easily forgotten,

not when two souls merge and feel as one.

But I couldn't be with him,

not anymore,

he made me feel like I wasn't myself,

my once crystal dreams had blurred.

He shattered them with promises, plans and demands,

he made me feel drained,

a lifeless shadow behind his fiery passion, and darkest heart.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't feel,

I had to leave,

and so I did.

The whole Kingdom whispered that this would mean my death,

betrayal always has the smell of blood,

so I knew the day was near,

when he would take away everything I hold dear,

my golden youth, my fairy dreams,

his eyes when his seas are calm,

his flesh against my heart.

But though I knew, I just went on,

playing my happy song on the guitar,

singing along,

under the Poplar tree,

the tree of Death,

Hades' beloved tree.

My feet are turning blue in the winter stream.

"Oh, how I dream of countries far and wide,

to see them all before I die,

I am so young and fair and true,

my sons shall sing my happy tune.

Oh, mother Earth and Oceans wide,

I feel your tide rising inside,

Oh! Gods believe me,

I do not lie...

I do not wish to die"

My tear as cold as the melting snow, maybe I have already died.

I saw him from the corner of my eye,

my gleaming Prince holding his sword.

He had left his white steed not far behind,

the killing wouldn't take him long.

His once blue eyes were red and bloody,

stormy rings encirled both,

his skin was pale,

his lips looked dead and ash clouded his hair,

his clothes were torn, the gold was covered in blood,

what have you done,

my love,

what have you done...

-Amelia, you knew I'd find you... why did you linger?

He drew his sword and stood before me,

I felt its cold steel on my neck.

-Why did you leave me...WHY?

I did not speak then, I stood before the tree,

 closed my eyes and heard the water

gurgling through the mud and stones,

happy and free.

-Speak! Tell me why!

 His rusty breath filled my lungs,

I heard fiery wrath shattering the remnants of his heart.

- I want to be what I was meant to be,

not a figment of your dream.

I won't obey your commands,

that is not what true love does.

-If I can't have you, nobody will.

 Witch!

You shall taste my steel and wrath.

THIS is what true love does.

The coldest blade broke into my spine,

Amelia was no more alive,

and as I watched myself bleed,

I heard my old Prince weep,

not with remorse, not with relief.

He pushed his face in the gash

and drank my unfairly, spilt blood,

each drop a wail, a cry,

until my body ran dry.

But love lives on,

beyond Hades' halls,

loves lives on

among the dead souls,

He'll come to me,

soon enough,

love lives on,

beyond death and wrath.



The Therapist

(photo by Kingston Lounge)

All the agony and pain she gradually crammed between the books,
each spine, a bloody tale,
each cover a relived dream,
a bookcase, a shrine and a held-back tear,
a flash of memory, a gutted zombie walks out of its tomb.

And though she knows all the secret, magic words,
she never says them out-loud,
she is afraid of a heart beat out of tune,
and of death, himself - he might come out and collect-
and then all the words will die with her.

She keeps the words in a glass bowl,
like marbles and fish alive,
she feeds them hope and they grow fat,
but never comes round to the tedious task,
to write them down and pass them around,
like proper witches do.

The bookcase, ladden with facts and recipes of out-wordly tasks,
casts its shadow in the dark,
she feels it even when the lights are dead.
Does she dare, with paper and ink, to pull the volumes out,
to relieve the dreams and take the truth down?

The red ink spills on the floor and makes the white sheets red,
she doesn't mind, she doesn't care,
she knows, she feels,
the stories are real,
and that even she, the most powerful witch, must not be spared.

What happened to the key story.

It was a really good story when I first came up with it, but each time I tried to put my hands around it and do something with it, it just went flat.
I feel very frustrated when something like this happens but I think there is no better way to deal with it than just letting the story rest for a while.

Maybe later on, the key will let me curl my fingers around it and squeeze its story out.

Electrosmog. The Ghost Story.

The small village of Crinkley Bottom stood just below the snowing mountain-top of Blankets.

It wasn't a particularly tall mountain nor one of extraordinary beauty, at least not in the daytime. It was at night that its curvy top lit up like a grand, all-weather, Christmas tree. Small red lights, easily seen from the village, blinked against the night sky competing even with the brightest of stars.

Those were the lights of the mobile phone masts that like a dense, petrified forest covered the peak entirely, creating a rather sympathetic effect of divinity and surveillance.

The people of Crinkley Bottom opposed to the masts at first but on second thought the constant visits from engineers and electricians did fill them with a sense of importance so they accepted them as something good.

The masts gave them something to talk about during the long, lonely winter nights.

Those lights became a beacon of advancement and opportunity; to leave, to be introduced, to leave..

After the 100th mast was planted among the 99 others our story begins because it was then that the disturbances began.

The wind became noisier and more deliberate, some windows opened with a crash while others never left their hinges, the single bell of the church rang all by itself, bee hives emptied, cows, hens and horses went missing and most importantly..the dogs started howling, like they were possessed, in the dead of night. All these made the once quiet village a place of madness. The people of Crinkley Bottom could not see the blinking lights at night because persistent mist covered the masts, night and day, even in the summer.

It was decided that an extra priest was in demand due to the increase of functions, services and confessions. Fear started to spread like a disease and the church was called in to cast it away. Despite all efforts however, the phenomena grew more intense as the year went by and so was the consumption of alcoholic beverages.
It was when the first electrician came to check on the masts that the people of Crinkley Bottom finally made the connection.
Mr Jack Bywater, a 45 year-old electrician working for Beaver Network was the first to visit the village after the disturbances became a real issue of concern. He arrived on a warm summer evening the day before he was to check on the Beaver masts and as usual he stayed at the local pub for the night. The men who were mostly drunk by the time he arrived told him what was going on but Jack, being a practical man who believed only in what he saw, shook his head sympathetically and bought them another pint. In a few hours he was too drunk himself to listen to the howling that made the sober people's blood curdle and the children run to their mothers' shaking arms.

The next day and a few hours out of schedule Mr Jack Bywater left the village. He was going to be back for dinner at the pub to enjoy the rooster that was on the menu that evening so he didn't take any food with him.
It was a warm, sunny day and he thought he would enjoy the exercise. He could see the mist obscuring the top completely but he was certain he could manage not only because he was a very experienced electrician but also because he loved a little adventure.

 45 minutes later and 10 degress less Jack stopped his climb right in front of the cold mist. He was very cold and a little apprehensive since he had never experienced such a peculiar kind of mist before. It encircled the top of Blankets forming a kind of dome, so round and dense it looked, he thought that he could cut it with his knife and take a piece back to Crinkley Bottom . Even from such close distance he still couldn't spot the forest of masts that were supposed to be not more than 10 metres away. However, what really upset him was a strong buzzing noise the was coming from within the dome which was so loud that Jack ran out of ideas of what that thing might be. It sounded like an engine, a motor and other electrical things.
He stood there for a few minutes contemplating on his situation and in the end he decided that there was nothing to it. He should go and do his job like the proper electrician that he was.
Taking a deep breath he stepped inside the dome.

The rooster was getting cold on the plate and its buttery sauce was turning into a crust made of fat, so many hours was Jack late for dinner.
The patrons were already telling stories trying to justify his disappearance:

the spirits must have got him
the devil himself must have devoured him
the mist is a porthole to another dimension
the masts must have fried him to bits

In the morning the people gathered at the school to discuss what should be done for poor Jack. It was decided that he shouldn't be left alone up there.
 They thought about calling the local authorities but the nearest town was more than a five-hour drive away. By the time the police arrived, Jack would surely be dead.
Some of the bravest men of the village; Milton the baker, Timothy, the school teacher and John, the pub owner's son volunteered to go and have a look. In the meantime the police would be called as well as an ambulance just in case.
The people waved goodbye to the three brave men lookιng at the thick mist on the top of the mountain in horror wondering if their people were ever coming back.
Now, these men knew the mountain and all the shortcuts to the top very well, and so they arrived at the misty dome far quicker than poor Jack had.
"What in the world is this strange sound?" asked Milton the baker.
"I don't know but we'd better stick together." said Timothy the school teacher.

One by one they stepped inside the dome.

It was like stepping inside a cloud. The sun disappeared and nothing could be heard except a monotonous, sinister buzz that seemed to attack their nerve systems making them cold and sweaty at the same time.

Timothy the school teacher stretched his arms before him and like a sleepwalker walked a few steps towards the masts. He was having difficulty breathing and the noise must have been making him dillusional because he thought he could see shapes gliding inside the mist, ghostly things with mouths open, sucking the air around them. He thought they were coming for him, just like that American movie he had seen not many days ago.
"I shouldn't watch stupid things like that" he thought and tried to shake his fear away.
Timothy took a few steps backwards, turned around and started to run as fast as he could away from this damn place, to the fresh air but BANG! He smashed his face against one of the masts so hard that he lost his balance and realised that he was about to fall backwards.. but didn't. His face was stuck on the mast which was covered in a gluey substance, and then something started to crawl on it making the buzzing sound grow louder. Insects crawled on his face and hands as he tried to push his head away. He felt their stings all over his face, on his eyes and mouth. The whole mast was covered in bees. Soon they were crawling on his arms and legs, in his hair and underneath his jacket.
Then something airy and very cold started to curl around his waist..
"Please no...." he begged and tried to open his mouth to scream.

Milton the baker and John the pub owner's son remained together. Milton was feeling protectively for the boy, being the same age with his own son, who had left the village three years before to go to University. Milton wanted to be certain that nothing would happen to the boy so he held him by the left shoulder and told him not to move before they decided what the hell was going on.
Since Timothy was nowhere to be seen and shouting would be useless with all the racket they decided to move towards the masts to check that everything was in place.
"Look!" said John pointing at a strange shape that was coming towards them. They didn't move only stared at the figure coming closer.
"It's Jack, I think it's Jack!" said Milton who looked at the man approaching apprehensively.
"There's something wrong, don't move.."
"What's wrong with him?" asked John who took a step backwards in shock.
If they hadn't seen the familiar plump outline, the dark beard covering his face, they both would have sworn that a huge puppet was coming their way. Though his strings could not be seen, the way his feet seemed to barely touch the ground while hopping towards them, the way the arms swang from right to left and his head tilted a bit to the left, all these made them wish they had never found Jack or even gone looking for him; he was Jack no more.
The both of them watched 'Jack' as he was approaching. Just when the details of his face were starting to show the thing stopped and like a banana peel his body fell on the ground, a side at a time. First his right side then the front and finally the two men saw his left side collapse.

Their screams froze on their petrified faces, the shell that used to be Jack was occupied by a horrid, gliding spirit who slithered towards them. As they turned on their heels and started to run the buzzing noise surrounded them. They were attacked by a million bees which as if they were following orders covered their bodies and faces in a second. The two men fell on the ground writhing in pain and agony until they felt something cold curling around their dying bodies.

Several months later there was nothing left of the quiet village of Crinkley Bottom. Most of them had perished trying to find out what had happened to all those people who had gone to the mountain top, the rest had fled out of fear.
The masts however, continue to function admirably and without fail.

The Fall. A story written by 11-year-old Orestis

   (digital art by Natiq Aghayer)


It was a sunny day. I woke up and got dressed. I thought that it would be a simple day. I took my breakfast and I got out. It was Sunday so I thought I should relax and have a bit of fun.
After double-locking my door I started to walk. For ten minutes everything was going all right; a lot of people were walking on the pavement and in a little open-air market people were selling their products.
Suddenly, everyone disappeared and the buildings started to fall.
 I ran as fast as I could because I was afraid that if I stopped somewhere even for a minute, a big stone would crush me.

After hours of running the buildings finally stopped falling. I sat down breathless. I looked around me and I couldn't believe that London had just turned to ruins. It was just wrong and I was lost in the middle of it!

I started walking again with nowhere else to go to and with no one to help me. I was thinking about what I should do. I was scared. I kept walking until I finally reached the end of the road. With a big disappointment I saw that there was a big cliff full of blood, bones and rotting bodies. It was so disgusting! But I was ready to jump....and I did.
I knew that the feeling would be terrible and that I would die but I didn't care. I thought that my life had been destroyed!
 However, I found myself in another dimension.
There was fire everywhere and a lonely, empty, feeble path. I didn't know what I was going to face but there was something that was attracting me. I followed the path. It was very long and dark. After hours I sat down to get some rest and that was when I got scared the most.
I heard a strange noise and then something hit me on my head. While I was falling down senseless I heard someone scream.
When I woke up I realised that I was in a cell. The cell had a powerful lock with a fingerprint combination. Suddenly the cell opened. There was a door which they probably used to bring me here but it was locked.
I walked towards it. Suddenly I heard footsteps. I was terrified. I saw a trapdoor on the floor. When I got inside I saw an old man sitting on a chair.
I asked him how I could escape from there but he gave me no answer.
"Perfect" I said "You don't know my language and I don't know yours."
"Who told you that I don't know your language Mr. Someone?" asked the old man. "Do you know who I am?"
"No" I answered
"Neither do I" said the old man.
"Anyway, how can I escape from all this nonsense?" I asked
"You can't, my boy. Now you are trapped in the smallest part of your mind."

I realised then that I was dreaming very deeply inside my mind.

"Now, you can't escape from here" said the old man "In the real world you're something like dead. You can only return to your world if you kill yourself again. But it's very dangerous because you might never wake up again" said the old man who suddenly disappeared...

How lovely, sweet Adeline became their Queen. A story written by 10-year-old Ageliki.

Ageliki wrote the prelude to the story you'll find if you scroll down about River Fleet and Lovely, Sweet Adeline.
Knowing Adeline, I must admit that this story is very close to what really happened to her, how she became the Queen of the Vampires and came to dwell under River Fleet.

It was a very warm night and a man was walking alone.
10 minutes later he arrived at a square and he saw a girl; she was a young girl in the village square, all alone and she was shouting a single phrase" "asaka Tirana kila etoua"
The man went to her and asked her a question.
"What is your name?" Then the girl stopped.
"My name is Adeline"
"Can I ask you another question?"
"Yes" answered the little girl.
"Why are you shouting this phrase and why are you alone?"
"I am here alone because my parents died a year ago when I was 4 in this square. Their blood and flesh are here. I am saying this phrase when there is a full moon because then I can see my parents. But only on one night...only on one night.." she whispered.
For two minutes they were looking at eachother's eyes. Then she started walking and accidentally she pushed at a stone on the square floor and a trapdoor opened.
They went down and walked along. They saw skeletons, a lot of blood and some skulls. Then they saw a door half red and half white. Adeline put her eye in the keyhole to see what was on the other side. She looked but nothing was there. Then she opened the door and went inside.
After a short time they heard a noise. It was the Vampires!
The first to enter the room was Tirana. The Vampire Queen! The girl asked Tirana:
"Why did you kill my parents?"
Tirana thought for a moment and then said: " I killed your parents because I am a vampire and I need blood to live."
"But why my parents?"
"Because your parents had royal blood and so do you."
Adeline became so angry she started hitting the powerful queen. Then the man picked a pointed piece of wood and drove it to Tirana's heart.
Tirana, the vampire queen was dead. Then Adeline's parents appeared and told her that she must become the vampire queen now.
"But why me?"
"Because you have royal blood!"
"Ok, let's do it!" answered Adeline and then her parents hugged her. The man was very tired and frightened. Perplexed, Adeline wondered what will happen to the man.
The vampires let him free to go because he had helped her and they had become friends.
Once a year on the same day they meet at this square.

New Year's Luck and X- Apodo.

A few hours before 2010 expires Louis decided to give his luck a last opportunity to reveal itself. Tonight was going to be a night of revelations or slow death, and he knew that better than he wanted to.
The casino stood like an ice castle in the snowy valley and he approached it apprehensively. The train ride and all the thinking he had done on the train hadn't managed to diminish his last ray of hope which like an old oil lamp shone its weak yellow light over the remnants of his life; a divorce, a heavy alimony to his poor, tormented wife, his two daughters that he'll probably never see again, a loanshark and his already expired deadline not to mention his two bruisers that will take care of him in a most painful way the minute they track him down. Still anything can happen in a casino on NewYear's Eve and so he straightened his dark blue tie and brushed the snow off his shoulders before entering the shiny building.

The place was full as expected. On his way to the bar Louis checked the tables and the games to see where everything is located and who were the big gamblers of the night. There was some serious cheering going on around a roulette table and a weird looking gentleman in white was occupied by trying to light a cigar the size of a water pipe. He was obviously the lucky bastard of the pit. All around his table plastic women were giving him lipstic kisses while shoving big silicone boobs against his chest...

He sat on a leather stool at the bar and turned around so that he could see the man who was now draining his glass.
"Good evening...What would you like to drink?" The polite- looking bartender asked.
"Bourbon" he said tearing his eyes off the man in white.
With the drink burning his parched throat he began to focus on the task at hand. He knew exactly what he needed. 400.000 Swiss Francs...approximately 316.9819 euros....How the hell was he going to win that much money he didn't know....He shook his head and emptied the glass.

" Desperrrate maladies rrrequire desperrrate rrremedies" a man's voice said in broken English. Louis looked up and saw the man in white leaning against the bar opposite him with a full glass in his hands.
"What did you say?" asked Louis who was taken aback by the man's sudden appearance in front of him.
"You hearrrd what I said." said the man who took his time rolling his Rs in his mouth using his tongue indulgingly which under different circumnstances Louis would have found funny though not tonight.

"It shows, doesn't it?" he asked having lost all interest in formalities....he WAS a doomed man after all.

"Diseases desperrrately grrrown, by desperrate appliance are rrrelieved or not at all!" said the man offering a long delicate palm which Louis took in his clammy hand.

"You arrre a lucky man indeed to have met me tonight of all nights..I am going to help you, my friend.." said the man and his eyes sparkled.
"Who are you?" asked Louis. A nasty nauseous feeling in his gut made him look in his glass...maybe he shouldn't drink on an empty stomach. He put the glass down.

"Of course..I forrrgot to intrrroduce myself. I'm X Apodo, but you can call me X. Just X."
"And what is it that you do, how are you going to help me?"
"You see Misterrr...."
"Louis. Just Louis."
"You see Misterrr Louis, I am a very lucky man and I can pass some of that luck to you if you like. I have this gift you see and I'd like to sharrre it. Tonight is a special night and I am already a very wealthy man... I feel generrrous!"
"And what would you like in return for your....generosity?"
"Just twenty perrr cent of your earrrnings...if that's not too much for you that is..."
Twenty per cent was not too much for Louis.
"How are you going to pass your luck to me..is it hard?" asked Louis raising an eyebrow.
Mr Ex didn't fail to notice the edge of irony in Louis' voice. He looked at him in contemplation, his eyes hardened just a little but were soon soft again and took the colour of warm honey, such beautiful, captivating eyes.

"It's quite simple actually. I sorrrt of hypnotise you and that's it. It won't last long but perrrhaps it will be enough..perrrhaps not."

Louis couldn't really believe what the man was saying but he had nothing to lose, in fact, maybe, he could do what he says...what the hell...why not?
 He smiled and looked at the man who was lighting another pipe-looking cigar with a large gold lighter. Its yellow light fell on Louis' face, the thing looked like a solid bar of gold.

"Let's do it!" he said with determination.

"Close your eyes.."

Louis did as told feeling both embarrassed and ridiculous. Mr X said nothing more so Louis just waited with his eyes closed resisting the urge to take a peep at what the man was doing. A minute or two later Mr X ordered him to open his eyes again. When Louis looked at him Mr X was leaning against the bar with a crooked smile on his face as if trying to repress a laugh..

"Is this your idea of a joke? Are you having a good time humiliating people?" asked Louis standing up.

"It's done. You can go and play.." said the man calmly.

"That was it? You hypnotised me and I have your luck now..right.."

"Only for a while...go trrry it...and don't forrrget...twenty perrr cent. I will be rrright herrre to collect. Herrre's a chip to get you starrrrted."

The man placed a green rectangular chip with the number 500 written in gold letters on the bar. It was as big as the gold lighter.

Louis looked at the chip and back at the man before picking it up.

"Ok, I'll give it a try."

"Good! Go to that little wheel over therrre.." he said pointing to the table he was before, "The crrroupierrr is a fine gentleman...and don't forrrget to tip!"

Louis left the bar and walked towards the roulette table rolling the chip between his fingers..

"Place your bets!" the croupier said as Louis approached the empty table. The man looked at him and then shot a glance at Mr. X who nodded back.

"Maybe luck has nothing to with this after all" thought Louis who trusted fraud more than luck. He looked at the numbers on the table.

5...10...23...7. His eyes lingered on 7. Seven made him feel all warm and cuddly inside, but why? His mother's face floated on the surface of his memory pool; his 7th birthday and the huge cake she had made just for him, what was the big present he got on that day...

"Seven" he said and put his chip on the red square.

"Straight up!" announced the croupier "No more bets"...

And then the wheel started to spin. Louis looked at the small ball calmly. Seven would not let him down, he knew..7 was good.

"7" announced the man and placed a stack of chips in front of him. Louis looked at them and turned his head towards the bar where Mr X was standing with a wide sparkling smile on his face. He pointed to his gold watch for Louis to see, reminding him that he would have to hurry.

He turned back to the numbers on the table. The warm 7 feeling had gone so he started searching again. 10...15...28...31. This 31 stood out from all the numbers...it was actually glowing. Its golden light fell on the numbers around it...31 was his wife's...ex-wife's lucky number. How odd, he hadn't thought of that in years. She loved all the months with 31 days, she thought those last days were lucky, but were they? He couldn't remember.

"31" he said and placed the stack of chips on the black number.

"No more bets" the croupier said and the ball roamed in its round pool.

"31" The croupier placed a taller stack of chips if front of him. Louis looked at the numbers again but he knew he didn't have to. He had felt the cold breath near his heart where the warmth of his newly-found luck had been a minute before. It was over, but this wasn't enough; he needed more. All the chips went inside his jacket pocked and he rushed back to the bar not forgetting to tip the croupier who said: "Merci pour les employes" in immaculate French.

"I want more..I need more..please... give me more.."

"I'm glad you found the experrrience pleasant but I'm afrrraid we're rrrunning out of time, it's 10 minutes after 11 and I will leave when the year expirrres..you see I am a busy man Mr. Louis."

"Please, here's your 20 per cent, we have 45 minutes before you leave...I'll give you 30 per cent if you like".

Mr X pocketed the chip Louis gave him and looked at his watch again.

"Therrre is a game that will enable you to get the money you need fasterrr, if you are interrrested in playing something heavierrr.."

"Heavier?" Louis asked with a frown.

"Black Jack. There is a prrrivate game going on rrright now and I know they arrre always looking for players. I prrromise you I will make sure my gift last longerrr in therrre, you will be playing against prrrofessionals afterrr all.....Arrre you game Mr Louis?" Mr X asked putting out what was left of his cigar.

"I am, let's go.." answered Louis who had a sudden qualm about the safety of the venture but chose to ignore it. It was just a game of Black Jack and nothing more.

The two men walked outside. The cold had reached its peak and Louis felt his bones complain undertneath his feeble jacked. But the walk didn't last long, they soon stopped outside an old wooden door which stood at the back of the casino, attached to a seemingly desolate brick building. Dead silence surrounded them. The house behind the door seemed completely empty; no light, no sound came out to greet them.

Mr X raised a hand and banged on the door twice. When the echo of the second knock subsided, bright yellow light escaped from the bottom of the door's frame and deafening music animated the whole building so suddently Louis stood aghast at the sight. The door opened and revealed a crowded room, filled with grey smoke and a lively, festive atmosphere. They walked inside and Louis felt his spirits rise as the mellow sounds of the trumpets, the saxophones sweetened his ears and the lovely ladies who looked at him hungrily warmed up his bones.

 Everyone seemed to know Mr X. They hugged him and called out his name. He knew everyone and returned all the hugs and kisses from both the men and the gorgeous women of the room.

The walked further inside and even further. Drinks were placed in their hands and large platters of food danced before them. Louis took a couple of the delicious orderves that passed- by him, licked his fingers and  picked up all the little crumbs that had fallen on his jacket, he had never eaten anything like that his whole life. Then a feline lady gave him one of the pipe-like cigars that Mr X had been smoking all evening, she even lit it between her red, pillowy lips. Louis took a long whiff and filled his lungs with Cuban magic and then took another and another...and all the while they were walking further inside.

If he could, he would have sworn that the building had looked much smaller on the outside but right now he refused to think and feel anything less than this.

Content and up-lifted Louis followed X to the end of the room and to another wooden door.

"This is wherrre they play the Jack. We both go inside, they give you a seat and you play...but firrrst close yourr eyes.."

Louis let his heavy eye-lids drop and the music fill the darkness behind them. 

The door opened and the two of them walked inside the room. Six men were sitting around an  wooden semi-circle table filled with cards and ash trays. One of them, the oldest of the lot stood up the moment they entered the room. Louis saw X nod to the man who then ran out without looking back. Everyone's heads were turned to the open door which closed as soon as the man had gone. The large grandfather clock attracked Louis attention in the silence. Its heavy pendulum was ticking the last minutes of the year away. It was 20 minutes to 12.

"Have a seat" X said.

Everybody looked at the newcomer from head to toe as he sat down between two younger men who looked like they had escaped a gangster movie. Their hats were resting on the table next to them and on their shoulders Louis could see the braces that were supposed to keep their trousers in place.

Louis emptied his chips on the table and piled them neatly in front of him. The men looked at the chips unimpressed.

"Let's play.." he said.

"He still has 20 minutes..he can still walk out if he likes." said the man sitting opposite him without looking up.

"Fine." X said "One game. He wins, he walks."

"If I lose...then what?" asked Louis shrugging his shoulders.

"You'll stay" said the man next to him.

"I think I'll just leave now..." said Louis standing up.

The men started to laugh, some revealing golden teeth at the back of their mouths.

"Your time is running out, and so is your luck.." said X taking out another cigar from his breast pocket.

"Sit" said the man opposite him.

Louis did as he was told and the man opposite him started dealing the cards. He stared at them without picking them up.

"Hit!" said the man on his left and placed a tall stack of chips to the centre of the table.

Bang....bang....bang......went the clock with every tick as loud as a gunshot.

It was Louis' turn who pushed his chips to place his bet.

The 'dealer' looked at X who nodded in response.

"Where are your chips?" Louis asked to the man on his right.

"Long gone..." replied the man.

"And how do you play?"

"I play with years..Black Jack years." said the man who looked down at his cards and shook his head sadly. 

Louis could have fled, his time hadn't expired yet. He could have screamed, cried, fainted but he did none of the above.

In reality, he had nowhere else to go, it was this or the loanshark's bruisers. His family was broken beyond repair, he had noone to turn to...perhaps this was not such a bad way to spend...the rest of his life.

The clock's ticks had suddenly turned to whispers. The minutes were flying away.

He felt his heart relax and a calming sensation washed over him as he picked up the two cards that the dealer had given him.

5!, the trumpets, the saxophone, the singing had stopped, 4!, the people outside were casting 2010 away, 3!, they were counting loudly 2!, Louis looked down to his two cards, 1....

The grandfather clock boomed loudly 12 times.

 He had a Queen and an Ace.

"Black Jack" he said and opened his cards on the table.

The door opened slightly and some confetti was blown inside the smoky room exactly where Mr X was standing a minute before. Not knowing what to think, he filled his pockets will all the chips he could carry and walked out of the room.

The door closed silently behind him and he hurried out of the cold, empty house and into his life.

The deadly arrow. A story written by Anastasia, a 12- year-old student of mine.

This story was part of  a writing project and this is what Anastasia came up with:

I had been walking through the forest for several hours when I suddenly heard something behind me. I looked back but everything looked all right. When I took the next step I saw something sharp flying next to me. I was scared so I walked and found that thing. It was a long arrow.
I turned my head back and I saw someone. He looked big and strange but I couldn't see him very well though I felt that he was more than just a person.
I was so frightened I didn't know what to do. Then I heard something again and I started to run like a maniac. He threw me another arrow and it hit my shoe. I pulled it out and started to run again, I climbed a tree and he missed me for a moment but the branch I was sitting broke and he saw me. I started running again and then I fell down because of another arrow. More people came, they caught me and took me to a small cage.
I tried to escape but they saw me and and threw me another arrow. It was poisonous so it made me sleep. When I woke up I felt so different and then I saw that they had cut off one of my hands. I screamed loudly.
I lost my senses and fell down. I woke up in two days. I couldn't see well and my eyes were closing.
"This is the end" I told myself and I closed my eyes again slowly.

The collectors. A Christmas story.

    The cold, white night was piercing my bones as I walked hurriedly home.
Colourful lights were blinking at me from windows, doors and trees, because this was a Christmas night, a full moon Christmas night that is and because I never really liked the cold round face staring down at me from above, I was happy to notice that this night was so cloudy that no round face could follow me as I walked down the familiar path home.
I wish to repeat the melodramatic bit of the story; this was a Christmas night, a glorious night, where people celebrated, families gathered and lovers kissed..though I was alone. A lonely man away from home.

With every breath I took white steam escaped from my mouth, I watched the dancing ghosts of breath disolve and fade into the night.. the perfect metaphora...I was like an old steam train but with nowhere else to go but home to a microwave dinner and the tv.
The rusty church gate was left open as every night, though tonight the snow made the yard look like a puff of cloud. I cross this deserted church yard every evening since it cuts the distance home down to a half and it has found a place in my heart. The few Poplar trees whose leaves applaude the wind that always blows in this patch of land... the tiny church that noone enters anymore, as lonely as I am....

With these mellow thoughts I cross the yard tonight, hearing my boots crush the crunchy snow until music made me look up at the tiny church..
well... look at that,(I paused).... the church is open... there are people inside singing a Christmas hymn..how nice..

I follow the narrow path down to the other side and from the corner of my I eye I catch a glimpse of a woman, a beautiful willowy woman walking towards the chapel, wearing white..

"Won't you come inside?" a mellow voice behind me said.
I turned around and what a surprise, an angel was standing right before me, with a stunning smile on her ruby lips.
"Please, won't you escort a lonely lady on this lovely Christmas Eve?" she said with imploring eyes.
"Listen to that angelic song...Don't you think it's worth taking the time?"
Indeed, I could hear the soft, divine song, a girl's voice sang a Christmas song and even though I could not make out the words I was entranced. The candle-lit windows seemed so inviting and warm, they cast a spell on me.
She came closer, the gorgeous woman all dressed in white and touched my arm with her long delicate fingers. Such a perfect, outworldly face I thought and sighed. How and why could I refuse such a request..escorting a glorious lady to church..
And so I let her slender arm slither around mine and together we trod the untouched snow towards the charming, little chapel.
I pushed the door open and the lady walked inside, the candle light warmed my face and the girl sounded  even more divine as I went in.

The door closed behind me with a heavy thud.

The lights, the song had gone.
The church lay derelict and empty. The round moon had escaped its cloudy prison and now cast its silver light violently on me since there was no roof to keep it out...rumble and ruins was all I saw around me and in panic I searched for the lovely lady that had lured me in.

They were both there, standing under the flood of silver light, looking at me with a faint smile drawn on their lips.
I ran for the door, I pushed with all my might but the door had sealed.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT? WHO ARE YOU? What kind of magic is this?" I screamed and wept.
They looked at eachother tenderly and then the woman nodded to the girl who took a step forward and unbuttoned her fury, white coat and let it drop on the floor.

Underneath, she was wearing a white night-gown, her small slender arms hung loose on her sides, she looked so small and fragile..
Just then I noticed that the skin which lay bare below her throat rippled in an abnormal way.
A hand, I swear, I saw a hand move beneath her skin and then another, the girl's body convulsed and then her skin started to break. A face was drawn behind her feeble night gown where her waist was supposed to be and then the girl fell backwards.

I screamed as these demons burst out of her and glidded like ghosts towards me; horrid and ghastly, putrid and abhorrent. I stepped backwards, tripped on a wooden plank and fell.
Unbearable pain burnt my back; I couldn't move.

The woman's face shone above me next to the face of the blinding moon and then the ghostly things came over my chest.
"Don't be afraid," she sang to me "They'll collect what they need and then you'll go.."
"Please.."I muttered
I felt the woman's cold fingers caressing my forehead and saw the ripples at the base of her neck and then bony hands were formed before her skin broke and those things came out.
"What do you want?", I cried "Please...please.."
They rested above my chest and then in unison they started cutting my skin. I could feel  their teeth and nails and felt my blood before I saw it soaking my blouse and heard the scream, my scream echoing on the walls. Right then the things went for my mouth.

I woke up in the snow, inside the broken church. My back still throbbed when I stood on my two feet and like a maniac took off my coat and blouse; the blood had dried but it was still there.
I searched my chest, looking for the wound or the cut that those witches had inflicted on me but there was nothing, not even a scratch. Nothing but the blood on my clothes.

I feel empty, horrified and contaminated. Will I ever know what it was they took or will I have to wait for next Christmas to find out?

                               

Incantation: Anathema narthis semena

(photo by Eireen)

"Anathema narthis semena.

      The rash of Job,

 Jonah's sea monster,

Jehova's leprocy,

the decay of the Dead,

the trembling of the heart-broken,

the drums and thunders of Hell,

the curses and anathemas of men,

Anathema narthis semena...."

Eyes closed, she whispered the words, with trembling hands she held the bottle and muttered with all her might:

"Anathema narthis semena"

Still a small voice inside her kept asking if all this was worth the trouble.
She was scared and tired and lost and what more was there to be done but this.
She would take her chances and be all that she can be, a witch, the devil,
the one to change the course of history, and die for it.
She had grown sick of her weaknesses and her desires; fears and dreams.
So melodramatic, yet factual.
She smiled and knelt on the stone floor.
She will have to focus if she wants this to work.
No more games with potions and lotions,
this is the real thing,
the Power.
All she has to do is to repeat the incantation until it blends with the air inside her lungs and the winds around her.
A green light shone within her trembling palms,
she lost all focus, her eyes rolled inside their sockets and then,
 she saw:

She was standing on a high platform, grey clouds were running fast above her.
Thousands upon thousands of people below her, all calling her name.
She saw the rain falling on her cloak and on her feet but she felt nothing,
neither its moisture on her face nor the smell of the wet earth.

Then she spread her arms and flew up above,
above the clouds and the rain, where the sun shone the brightest,
but still no warmth penetrated her skin, as if standing behind a frozen glass, trapped, she felt nothing.
She wanted to feel the fear, the terror and the despair but none came and then the image of a son;
she should go to him to feel.

So she flew to the place where she called home and the boy opened the door, all dressed in velvet,
his face froze and his eyes went blank as they fell upon her,
he turned around and never looked back,
and still she felt nothing, no anger, no despair, no sorrow.
She entered the house and walked around,
the thick carpet lost an inch each time she stepped upon it,
and everyone bowed as she crossed their path, none looked at her in the eyes,
heads low, perhaps of disgust, but she did not care to ask.

The tall floor mirror stood against the wall at the far end of the corridor.
A lavinshly made looking glass,
with a gold gilded frame.
She stood in front of it and looked across.

A tiny scream echoed in the vaults of her mind and as it grew louder she pierced the reflection with her eyes,
and tried to perceive what was the thing she saw.

Herself an open wound, a leper, an abomination,
her hands old and rotten, wet with pus and slime,
her eyes empty, sockets dry and flaky,
her red hair was no more and in its place her skull shone like a wet stone.
A walking dead, a rotting corpse.
She opened her mouth to catch a breath
and black gore ran out and fell on the floor.

Dead yet alive,
weak yet strong
her youth, her life, all gone.

The sound of breaking glass brought her back,
her hands had let go.
His face, his lovely eyes had pierced her soul,
she wanted this no more.

(This bloodless story was written for Anna, a dear friend and fellow reader,
 who wished for something without blood but with all the rest that my stories have.
 I hope she finds this to her satisfaction.)